


Tomorrow's Problems

by fearfully_beautifully_made



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, But mostly fluff, Fluff, Idiots in Love, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Top John Watson, Virgin Sherlock, teeny tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6474583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home from the pub to patch Sherlock's (minor) cut and insists that Sherlock drink with him.  They play truth or dare and more truth comes out than either anticipated.  Smut and Fluff ensues when everyone has sobered up a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow's Problems

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because the last chapter I worked on in my other story was dark and made me sad. I had every intention of making this light-hearted "John and Sherlock have sex whilst drunk and realize they've always been in love." It turned a bit more into emotional, fluffy, sweet, first time sex. It sort of wrote itself. Anyway, it's just a light and fluffy piece that I wrote for fun. I hope you enjoy.

John Watson can understand why his sister drinks. Admittedly, he doesn't drink for the same reasons she does even if he wants to (perhaps especially if he wants to) but he loves the feeling of being drunk. Or perhaps tipsy was a more apt description. He wasn't really drunk, at least not the kind that would give him a hangover in the morning. He loved how floaty his head felt, the way it felt like there was a buffer between him and the rest of the world; like he could say or do anything because the world was too far away to hurt him.

John had been frustrated when he'd left his flat earlier this evening, Sherlock had done something insufferable and even if John couldn't currently recall what it was, he knew it had happened.  But the irritation he remembered feeling couldn’t come anywhere near him, such was the power of alcohol, and John decided that the problem could belong to tomorrow instead of today.  

With that settled he turned and grinned at Greg.  “This is nice.” John said and Greg looked over at him, taking a swig of his beer.  When Greg didn’t immediately respond, John elaborated, “It’s nice to be out with someone who isn’t trying to blow me up, or poison my drink, or ruin my jumpers.” Ah. Jumpers.  That was what he’d been angry about, Sherlock had set fire to one of his favourite jumpers. _Tomorrow's problem_ , his brain reminded him firmly.  “Why don’t we do this more often?” John asked Greg, signaling the bartender for another round.

“Mmmm” Greg hummed for a moment before letting out a burp, “Usually we’ve got a case on and Sherlock’s got you chasing after him.” Greg squinted at his beer before taking a drink, “And when we don’t have a case on together, Sherlock’s got a case of his own and you’re still out chasing after him.”

John sighed, this was true.  “We should do this more often.” He said decisively.  “We should just set a time and tell Sherlock I’m not available.”

Greg was about to respond when John’s text alert went off;

**Where are you? -SH**

**At the pub with Greg. I told you I was leaving 2 hours ago.**

**I was just talking to you.- SH**

**Nope.**

**I may be in need of medical assistance.- SH**

John groaned out loud, “Bloody wanker.  I just wanted one night.   _One Night_ to myself.” He turned and looked at Greg, “Is that really too much to ask?”

Greg shrugged, “What were you just saying about telling him you weren’t available?  Maybe now is the perfect time to start practising.”

John glanced down at his phone in his hands feeling torn; he really did want to stay out with Greg but if Sherlock was hurt how could he refuse to come home?

**This wound on my forehead won’t stitch itself, I am bleeding rather copiously.-SH**

**Also, probably best not to open the refrigerator until the compounds have stabilized.-SH**

John groaned again, “Sorry.  He thinks he needs stitches and he’s put an unstable compound in with the food.  Again.” John let his head fall forward and land with a thud on the bar.  Under normal circumstances, John was fairly certain that would probably have hurt but thanks to his buzzed state he could hardly feel it.

Greg patted him on the back, “Better you than me.  I’d have murdered him by now and that investigation _would_ be my division so no one would figure out how he died.”

“Ta, Greg.  Let us know if anything comes up, will you?  Before I have to sacrifice any more of my jumpers and fridge space to his mad experiments.”

“Sorry." Greg said with a wince,  "We’ve got nothing on that he would be interested in.”

John stood from his barstool and swayed slightly, “Well come up with something; I don’t care if you have to steal a bloody case from Dimmock to do it.  I’ll buy you coffee for a month every time we come to the Yard.”

“I’ll see what I can do.  Good night, John.”

“Night.” John called out, perhaps a touch louder than the situation really called for.  He made his way to a cab, which by some miracle was just outside the bar. Fleetingly John’s alcohol addled mind wondered if Sherlock, who seemed to be able to make them appear from thin air, had sent it to him or perhaps transferred his powers to John temporarily.  The ride was short and John tipped the driver when he got out of the cab to make his way inside.  He opened the door and blew out a breath before climbing the up the stairs, bracing himself for the havoc that had been wreaked upon his flat in his absence.   _Let the mess be tomorrow's problem, too!_ his brain cheered at him.  With a nod at his own genius he opened the door and stepped inside.

Sherlock was sprawled on the sofa with a flannel pressed over his forehead, his hands pressed together under his chin.  “Oh good.  You’re back.” Sherlock said, sitting up and looking at John as the flannel slipped, revealing a bloody gash on his forehead.

“Bloody hell, Sherlock.  What the fuck did you do?” John asked walking over to the sofa and taking Sherlock’s head in his hands to inspect the cut.  Sherlock began rattling off nonsense about unstable chemicals and exploding text tubes and incubation periods.  John could have followed the conversation, he was a doctor after all and was rather intelligent in his own right, but he found that he just couldn’t be bothered to understand how Sherlock had managed to cut his head open with a test tube.  

He cleaned the cut which was superficial and didn’t actually require stitches, thankfully.  “Right, so I’m going to cover this and it’s your job to keep it clean and dry.  Do you think you can manage that?”

Sherlock scoffed at him, “I am not a child, John.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” John mumbled as he finished getting the butterfly bandage in place over Sherlock’s cut.  John went to the kitchen to wash his hands and called out to Sherlock, “Right.  You interrupted my night out so now you are going to drink with me.”

“I’m what?” Sherlock asked from his position on the sofa as John carried over two glasses and a bottle of Scotch that he’d grabbed from the cupboard.

“Oh do keep up.  You know how much I hate repeating myself.” John said in what his drunken mind assured him was a spot on impression of his best friend before he burst into giggles.

“You’re already drunk.” Sherlock pointed out.

“Oh, well deduced.” John said, handing Sherlock a glass and filling it half full.  “You’ve got some catching up to do.”

Sherlock looked at the glass in his hand then at John before downing it with a few gulps and holding out his glass for John to refill.  John pushed Sherlock’s legs off the end of the couch and sat down in the space before pouring him another glass.  “Let’s play a game.”

Sherlock groaned, “John, the last game we attempted when we were drunk was disastrous.” Sherlock said, reinstating his feet on the end of the couch which now happened to be John's lap.  John looked down at the long, bony toes and graceful arches and shrugged, his mind chiming in once more with  _I don't mind._  

“Well, it isn’t my fault you had no idea who Madonna is.” John said.  “We'll play something different.  Let’s play truth or dare.”

Sherlock swallowed down the drink John had poured him, “There, I think I’m caught up to the three beers you consumed at the pub with Lestrade.  Truth or dare is a children’s game, as I recall, not a game to play whilst drinking.”

“You just haven’t played enough games as an adult.”

“I didn’t play games as a child either.” Sherlock answered.

Something about the way Sherlock said it made John’s heart clench, thinking about other children excluding him made John want to go back in time and shake some sense into those children.  John cleared his throat and pushed the emotions back, blaming his emotional state on the alcohol.  “Right.  Well, it’s easy.  The person who picks truth or dare can either answer the truth or complete the dare or they can drink, if they answer the question or do the dare the other person drinks.”

“Fine.” Sherlock said, arching his back off the couch as he stretched.  John swallowed as he took in Sherlock’s form stretched out before him; the long, lean lines, the hint of skin that peaked out where his t-shirt had ridden up above his pajama bottoms.   _Steady on, Watson.  It’s just the alcohol talking, stay in control of your impulses._  Well, the alcohol and the fact that the closest he’d come to sex since he and Mary had divorced was his own hand.  

Sherlock snapped his fingers in John’s direction, “John.” he said, his tone indicating this was not the first time he’d said something to him.  Sherlock huffed, “Honestly, sometimes it’s like you’re asleep with your eyes open.  Who goes first?” Sherlock asked.

“Errrm.  You pick, I don’t care.”

Sherlock sighed a put upon sigh, “Truth or dare?” He asked.

Normally John would pick dare; there wasn’t much that John wouldn’t do (at least there hadn’t been the last time he’d played this game when he was in the army.)  And between his bravery and his trust issues dare was always the safest way to go, but it was different with Sherlock.  Sherlock knew almost everything about him anyway or could at least deduce it and heaven only knew what kinds of dares Sherlock would come up with.  It was decided then, “Truth.” John said.

Sherlock sighed, “Dull.” he took a moment to think of a question staring at the liquid in the glass.  “How many people did you kill in Afghanistan?”

John choked on his spit and coughed a bit, he took a sip of his Scotch to help sooth his throat which absolutely did not help.  He realized a moment later that Sherlock had sat up as he reached out and thumped him on the back.

When John got his coughing under control he glanced at Sherlock who said, “Not good?”

“Bit not good, yeah.” John said.  Then he shrugged, “I don’t have an exact number, it’s not like you can always tell when your shots are hitting their targets when you’re in war.  But thirty confirmed kills, they used me as more than a medic.  You’ve seen how good my aim is.” He said.

Sherlock swallowed the liquor in his glass. "Your turn.  Truth."

"Ummm." John rattled his brain surely there was something that he wanted to know that was appropriate.    _Don't think about sex, Watson, don't think about sex._ "Did know the baby wasn't mine?" he blurted out.

John wanted to bury his face in his hands as he felt the flush creeping up his neck. He'd wondered if Sherlock had figured it out before the baby was born, if he hadn't told him because he didn't want John to be in more pain. But the two of them had studiously avoided talking about Mary after the day he walked into 221B telling Sherlock he was moving back in.

He glanced at Sherlock, not quite sure what he expected to see on his face but it wasn't the regret and the sorrow he saw there. "No." Sherlock said, shaking his head. "I knew she was a liar but I thought it was just about her past not about you."

"I know. I'm sorry." John said. "Blame it on the alcohol?" He said as he tipped his glass of Scotch back and let the burning liquid course down his throat. "Alright. You're up. Truth."

"I believe the normal course of action for these situations is to ask about one's sexual exploits. Yes?"

John spluttered, "I wouldn't necessarily say that's true."

"Mmm not quite accurate." Sherlock said, "I've made you nervous; you're blushing and won't make eye contact. What don't you want me to know?" Sherlock pondered allowed.

John internally winced at his own stupidity for suggesting they play truth or dare. The last thing he needed was his life imploding because Sherlock figured out John was infatuated with him.  (If John was being honest with himself, and alcohol seemed to have that effect on him, it was a fair bit more than a crush. But no one was getting that information out of him, thank you very much.)

Sherlock interrupted his thoughts, "How many women have you bedded, John?"

Internally John breathed a sigh of relief, "Bedded? Are you from Elizabethan England or something?"

"What would you prefer I said? How many women have you had sexual intercourse with? It's not the right question anyway." Sherlock said, waving his hand dismissively. "Answer the question, John so we can move on and I can figure out what you aren't telling me."

"Can't just deduce it?" John teased. When Sherlock glared at him he held his hands up in mock surrender. "It's not something I kept studious track of." He confessed. "In the army I was known for my ability to pull women." He said with a shrug.

"Yes. Three Continents Watson, I've heard."

John cleared his throat, "Uni was similar.  I'd say between 40 and 50."

"Mmmm. That seems a bit conservative, based on my observations." Sherlock said before swallowing his drink down. "Truth."

Two can play at this game, John thought. If Sherlock was going to ask about his past, he'd ask about Sherlock's. "How many people have you fucked then?" John winced at his crude wording and turned to look at Sherlock who was blushing.

"I haven't." Sherlock said quietly.

"What? Really?" John asked. "Huh. I thought Mycroft was just full of shite. How is that even possible?" John was shocked. Maybe a little part of him had thought about it but he'd never thought it was actually possible.

Sherlock bristled, "Not everyone places a high priority on sex."

"But you're so curious about everything. I just can't believe you never actually tried sex out. And you're gorgeous, I'm sure you've had plenty of offers." John slammed his jaw shut.  Damn the alcohol impairing his filter.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him as if he couldn't quite decide whether to take John seriously or not. "I answered. Drink."

John complied and swallowed down his drink. "But what about Irene Adler?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "What about her? Your turn."

"Truth." John said.

Sherlock looked surprised for a moment, clearly expecting John to back down from the challenge, from the truth and John relished it; he loved when he did something Sherlock wasn't expecting. "Mary once indicated that you were in love with James Sholto. Was she right?"

That hadn't been the question John had been anticipating. "When did she tell you that?"

"At your wedding. Now answer the question."

John shook his head, sometimes he forgot how close Sherlock and Mary had been. "Yes. It's true." John said without any shame.

"Interesting." Sherlock said, linking his fingers and running his forefingers across his lips while gazing at John calculatingly.

"Drink." John said pointedly.

Sherlock did then said, "Truth."

"Have you ever been attracted to someone sexually or are you asexual?" John asked. "Which is fine, by the way."

Sherlock smirked at him and said, "It's all fine, I've been told before."

John shared a smile at the memory, how different it had been back then. Sherlock had seemed so impenetrable then, so separate from John, he'd seemed so much more than merely human.

"No I'm not asexual.  Far from it, in fact.  I just learned to control my transport rather than letting my transport control me.”

John swallowed his drink, “There is an inherent flaw in your logic, you know.  Your transport may not define who you are, but it is most assuredly part of you.  Your body and your mind aren’t necessarily opposing forces at all times.”

Sherlock waved him off, “Semantics, John.  Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” John said, feeling like any sort of dare would require too much effort at this point.

“Was it specifically Major Sholto or is it other men as well?”

“No, it wasn’t just James.  There have been fewer men than women, I think, but I still know my way around a man’s body.” John closed his lips tightly, this was probably more candid than he would have been if Sherlock were just asking him these questions out of the blue when he wasn't pissed.

Sherlock dutifully drank his whiskey then said, “Truth.”

“Are you gay?”

“If you insist on being pedestrian about it, yes, I suppose that label fits my sexual preference.” Sherlock said with a sniff that reminded John of Mycroft; he still seemed to have enough of a filter in place not to mention it to Sherlock.  

John said “Truth.” Before taking another drink of scotch.

“Why do you always tell people you aren’t gay if you’re attracted to men?”

John swallowed, “Well, first of all, I’m _not_ gay.  I really do like women.  Secondly, I didn’t want people to think the only reason I was following you around was because I was in love with you, because that’s not the only reason.  You are clever and interesting, you solve crimes and do good, and you gave my life purpose again.” John nodded once decisively.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment then said, “The only reason?  Implying this was one of your reasons in the first place?”

John looked away from Sherlock, he could feel himself blushing profusely and cursed himself for not being able to keep track of his thoughts and his tongue, for suggesting they play this stupid game in the first place.

“Truth.” Sherlock said.

“I can’t...” John started before shaking his head.  “I don’t want to play this game anymore.” He pushed Sherlock’s feet off his lap and stood preparing to flee to his room and never come out again.  Sherlock would hate him after this, when he wasn't drunk and he could think clearly.  Look at how he’d always treated Molly, like her adoration of him was simply something he could use to his advantage to manipulate her.

“John wait.” Sherlock said, springing to his feet and swaying slightly as he grabbed John’s hand.  “Dare.” he said.  

“What?” John asked shaking his head.  “What do you want me to do?  Dare you to moon Baker Street?  That’s what dares usually entail.”

“No.” Sherlock said, looking down at where his hand was still wrapped around John’s.  “I want you to dare me to kiss you.” He said before looking at him through his eyelashes.  Looking shy and scared and _vulnerable_.  

“You what?” John asked incredulously.

Sherlock released his hand, “Sorry." he said, a blush working its way up his neck and bleeding into his cheeks.  "My mistake.”

John reached out for Sherlock and tipped into Sherlock slightly causing Sherlock to reach out with both hands and steady him.  “Kiss me.” John said.  “If that’s what you want.” John said shakily, “Kiss me.”

Sherlock looked at him for a moment before his eyes darted down to John’s lips and he ran his tongue over his own unconsciously.  Sherlock blinked at him and looked incredibly unsure of himself, John reached up and stroked his thumb across Sherlock's cheekbone. "Is this something you want, too?" John asked softly.

Sherlock nodded and leaned in toward John. John felt an incredible sense of elation, a moment that he had thought about consciously and unconsciously for _years_ was about to happen. A moment before their lips met John jerked back, "Wait!" He said. "Wait."

Sherlock pulled away for him as though he'd been burned looking distraught.

"No." John said, reacting to Sherlock and taking his face in his hands once more.

"For goodness sake, John. Make up your mind." Sherlock huffed.

"It's not that I don't want to kiss you. I do, I really, _really_ do. But not like this. I don't want the first kiss I ever share with you to be when we're both intoxicated."

Sherlock scoffed, "Always such a romantic."

"Not always." John said. "But this is too important, _you_ are too important." John leaned his forehead against Sherlock's and said "I've just wanted this for too long to do it poorly."

Sherlock pulled away, his impersonal mask fell back in place. "Good night, John."  John felt like his heart was walking away with Sherlock to his room but he let him go, it was the right thing to do. He leaned against the counter for a moment before collecting himself and heading upstairs to his room. He brushed his teeth, took a paracetamol, and drank a glass of water before he got into his pajamas and climbed into bed.

His mind was racing as he laid there, thinking about Sherlock and about this new discovery. He wondered how long Sherlock had felt the same before his thoughts stalled. Did Sherlock actually feel the same? He didn't actually know, he hadn't actually asked; he'd been so scared at first that Sherlock had discovered his secret and then so off balance when Sherlock dared himself to kiss him that he hadn't even asked if Sherlock actually felt the way he did.  Maybe John was just an experiment, maybe he just felt like he owed this to him for the years John had spent by his side. John groaned and rolled over punching the pillow and trying to get his mind to quit racing.

John didn't know how long he laid there thinking and running over the night repeatedly but it was long enough for John to stop feeling the happy buzz of alcohol running through his veins. He was on the downward curve and he'd convinced himself that Sherlock wasn't actually interested him at all.

It took a few minutes for John to recognize the melancholy notes of the violin downstairs. The music that reached his ears probably wouldn't have if John had shut his door as he normally did. The melody was haunting and soft, unbearably beautiful and heartbreaking. John held his breath and lay in bed listening, hardly daring to hope that Sherlock's playing might mean something, that it might be a reflection of what he was feeling.

John slipped out from under the covers and crept downstairs. Sherlock was standing staring out the window with his back to John, lending his entire body to the music as he played.  John loved watching Sherlock play, he was never sure how anyone could think he was an emotionless machine if they watched him play his violin.  It always seemed to be a channel for all of his pent up emotions that he refused to show the world and John wondered if his refusal to show them was a reflection of what Sherlock actually wanted or if it was a reflection of the parameters he allowed himself to stop people’s cruelty and judgment from getting to him.

As John listened to him he was overwhelmed by the melancholy, by the sadness in the notes.  Sherlock’s bow drew across the strings bleeding one note into the next and seeming to stretch out endlessly ahead of him as though this monotony, this despair was all Sherlock could see for the rest of his life.  John couldn’t bear it, he moved across the room and placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.  

Sherlock jerked, clearly startled and turned to face John, “I’m sorry my playing woke you.  It wasn’t my intention.” he said as he set his violin down, a faint blush colouring his cheeks.

John shook his head, “It didn’t.” He said softly.  “I couldn’t sleep, anyway.”  John swallowed against the rising emotions he felt in his body.  “When you jumped I went back to therapy.  You’d told me to quit seeing my therapist shortly after we met but I just couldn’t face the blackness and the void my life had become without you on my own.”

“John, I...” Sherlock started to say but John held up a hand.

“Please, let me finish.  I’m afraid if I don’t say it now I never will.” Sherlock nodded tersely and waited for John to continue.  “I realized part of why it was so difficult for me when you died was because there were things I’d never told you.  Things I’d always meant to say and yet somehow never managed to.” John laughed self-deprecatingly at himself before he continued, “I thought when we were standing on the runway and your plane was about to take off and I was never going to see you again that perhaps you felt the same way.  That maybe, just maybe, we’d been blind idiots this entire time.” John cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.” John said quite clearly.  “I have since the day we met and I don’t doubt I always will.” He nodded once, then said, “There.  I’ve said it.  So go ahead, tell me you’re married to your work; it’s alright, I understand.”

Sherlock stood frozen for a moment, staring at John uncomprehendingly and John was reminded of when he’d told Sherlock he was his best friend.  He was reminded, heart-breakingly, of Sherlock’s surprise; he was reminded that Sherlock hadn’t seen himself worthy of John’s friendship.  Sherlock blinked once and then blinked rapidly a few times before lunging at John and pressing his lips to his.  

The kiss was uncoordinated and a bit awkward, Sherlock bumped their noses together and seemed to struggle to find the right angle for their faces but John had never felt anything as amazing as this.  Warmth blossomed in his chest and he imagined that this must be what having a miracle happen to you feels like.  Without a second thought his hands moved to cup Sherlock’s face, stroking his cheekbones and pouring every part of his being into this kiss the way Sherlock had poured himself into his playing.

After what could have been moments or what could have been hours Sherlock pulled back and whispered, “I love you, too.”

John wiped a few tears from Sherlock’s face and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “That is the best news I’ve heard all day.” He said with a grin.

“You should know, I don’t know how to do this.  Any of this.” Sherlock said gesturing between the two of them.  “Not just the physical aspects, although I fear I am woefully ignorant in that regard as well, but the emotional aspects.  I’m afraid my...” He paused, clearly searching for an apt word, “Personality may not be designed for this sort of thing.”

“It’s fine.” John assured him.  “It’s all fine.  We can move as fast or as slow as you want to." John pressed a kiss to the tip of Sherlock's nose.  "I know you Sherlock, your personality quirks aren’t going to scare me off.  I love you for exactly who you are.”

Sherlock’s lips tipped up into a grin and he kissed John once more, his arms wrapping firmly around John’s body.  John gentled the kiss, running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and moving his lips slowly against Sherlock’s, stroking his tongue lightly along Sherlock’s bottom lip before tracing the outline of his top lip.  A moment later Sherlock gasped as John’s hands gently tugged Sherlock’s curls and his mouth fell open allowing John’s tongue to venture inside and stroke Sherlock’s with his own.  

Eventually Sherlock pulled back gasping for air and John took the opportunity to press his lips to Sherlock’s jaw and then down his impossibly long neck, which was something John had wanted to do forever.

“John.” Sherlock gasped out, his hips jerking against John when he reached the juncture of where Sherlock’s neck met his shoulder.  John grinned and wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s back more firmly as he kissed and licked at that juncture once more.  “John can we...” Sherlock paused and John pulled back to look at his face once more.  He was stunning like this, John thought, hair dishevelled, a flush spreading across his cheeks, and his pupils blown wide as he stared at John with something close to wonder.  Sherlock looked down, avoiding John’s gaze, “Would you take me to bed?” He asked softly, sounding unsure of himself.

“If that’s what you want.” John said gently, tipping Sherlock’s face up so he could look into Sherlock's eyes.  “We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.  You know that, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded and whispered, “I want to.” He worried his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment and John was quite sure he’d never seen anything as adorable in his life.  “John I want...” He paused and swallowed and John waited patiently for Sherlock to continue his thought.

When he didn’t John smiled at him and stroke his cheek once more, “What, love?  Whatever you want you can have.  Just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

Sherlock swallowed and said, “I want you to penetrate me.”

John blinked at him, that was not what he was expecting.

“Unless you don’t want to, of course.” Sherlock said quickly and John could see him closing himself off, pulling back into his shell so John couldn’t hurt him.

“Hey.” John said reaching up and taking his face in his hands again, “Stay with me.” 

“I haven’t gone anywhere.” Sherlock said with a huff.

“Yes you have.  You got scared I was going to reject you and you pulled back.  Well I haven’t and I’m never going to, you just surprised me.”  He felt Sherlock relax marginally, and he continued, “If that’s what you really want we can absolutely do it," John paused and giggled at his word choice.  "Pardon the pun." Sherlock rolled his eyes but a smile tipped up the corner of his lips, regardless, "But there are a lot of other options, too.  Some couples don’t ever have anal sex, it’s not for everyone.”

“Are you one of the people who doesn’t like it?” Sherlock asked curiously, running his eyes over John’s body as though he could read the answer there.  And maybe he could, John thought to himself.

“No.  I like all sorts of things when it comes to sex but I’ve had partners before who found it really uncomfortable or even painful.  You don’t have to push yourself into this if it’s something you aren’t sure about, I just want you to know you have options.”

Sherlock nodded, “I want to try it.” He said his voice still soft and unsure, “If I change my mind can we stop and do something else?”

“Of course, love.” John said pressing a light kiss to Sherlock’s lips.  “Come on.  I have everything we’ll need upstairs.”

Sherlock followed John up the stairs to the bedroom but stood awkwardly in the doorway as though he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do with himself once he got there.  John chuckled, “Come on, then.  You’ve never had a problem barging into my room before."

Sherlock looked up at him, still looking incredibly young and insecure, and John couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as he walked over, took Sherlock's hands in his and drew him into the room, “It’s just me, Sherlock, I’m still the same man I’ve always been.  It’s just you and me, the same as we’ve always been, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded as he reached down and started untying his belt on his bathrobe.  John reached down and stilled his hands, “Let me?” He asked softly.  Sherlock nodded again and John leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, kissing him gently as he untied the robe and slipped it off Sherlock’s shoulders letting it fall to the floor.  He slipped his hands under Sherlock’s t-shirt and let his hands wander across the soft, warm skin on his back feeling the slight raises of scars here and there.  Sherlock gasped and arched into John’s touch and John grinned against Sherlock’s lips, he would never get sick of the breathy, soft noises Sherlock made.

He reached for the hem of Sherlock’s t-shirt and pulled it off over his head.  He took a moment to admire the expanse of pale skin before him.  John ran his fingers across Sherlock's collar bones and down his sides before bringing his hands back up to let his thumbs circle Sherlock's nipples for a moment.  Sherlock let out a soft gasp of surprise and John glanced up at his face to see Sherlock biting his lip and staring at John.  After a moment Sherlock reached over and after receiving a nod of encouragement from John did the same to John’s t-shirt.  Sherlock’s fingers lightly, almost reverently started tracing John scar, after a moment Sherlock looked up at him, “Does it hurt?” He asked and his childlike innocence in that moment made John’s heart swell with love and tenderness once more.

John shook his head, “It gets a bit stiff when it rains sometimes but otherwise it’s fine.”

Sherlock continued running his fingers lightly across it, “We came so close to never meeting.” He said softly.  “If this bullet hadn’t hit you here you might have died or if it hadn’t hit you when it did you might have come home at a different time altogether and we might never have even known each other.”

“I think I would have found you no matter what.  Somehow my path always leads back to you.” He said with a grin.

Sherlock leaned in to kiss him and John pulled Sherlock’s body in flush against his own, feeling the warmth of Sherlock’s skin pressed against his made his heart pound.  Sherlock gasped and pulled his lips away from John’s once more, “I don’t understand how skin touching mine feels like this.” He said.

John grinned at him and walked him back towards the bed, Sherlock flopped down on his back and John climbed up on the bed next to him, straddling his hips and leaning down to press a kiss to his lips once more.  “Because the brain is the most important sex organ,” John said, he ran his fingers lightly up Sherlock’s side, "And you have the most incredible mind in the universe.  Of course you’re going to be fantastically sensitive.”

John kissed Sherlock’s jaw and worked his way down Sherlock’s neck once more, lingering behind Sherlock’s ear for a moment to hear the breathy whimpers it produced.  “John.” Sherlock gasped and it was the closest thing to begging John had ever heard.  When John sat up and looked down at Sherlock he saw that his eyes were closed and his chest was heaving.  His eyelashes fluttered open, “Please.”

John nodded at him and moved down so he could shimmy Sherlock’s pajamas off him, pulling them down his ridiculously long legs.  Then he stripped out of his own, pulling his pants down simultaneously.  Sherlock stared at John’s naked body and John felt the tips of his ears blush at the scrutiny.  Plenty of people had seen him naked, but it wasn’t the same as Sherlock seeing him naked; Sherlock not only saw his flesh but it felt as though Sherlock could read his life from his skin the way people read words from the pages of a book.  Sherlock's eyes flicked down to John's cock, he sat up and reached out to cautiously run his hand along John’s cock and John hissed out a breath.

Sherlock looked up at him and smirked making his fist a little tighter, stroking John's cock a few more times, “You are a rather spectacular specimen, especially for a man of your stature.  I had deduced as much from the way you walk, but it’s always nice to be proven right.”

John grinned ruefully and pushed Sherlock back on the bed, and reached down to the band of Sherlock’s pants.  He dipped his fingers under the band of Sherlock's pants and rubbed at Sherlock’s hip bone, “Yes?” He asked.  Sherlock nodded and John said “Lift.” as he slipped his pants down his hips.  He revealed Sherlock’s body and saw his cock standing erect and proud, it was slender and long, and the foreskin had pulled back revealing the plumy head to John’s gaze.  He stepped back a moment to take in all of Sherlock’s body laid out before him like a feast, “You’re stunning.” John whispered.

Sherlock blushed and reached out to take John’s hand and pull him back into bed.  John came willingly, laying slightly to Sherlock’s side he reached into the bedside table and pulled out a tube of lube.  He started kissing Sherlock’s neck once more as he let his hand wander down Sherlock’s body, he ran his hand along Sherlock’s cock in one smooth stroke and Sherlock’s hips jerked as he let out a strangled moan.  John didn’t linger but kept moving until he could cup Sherlock’s balls in his hands, they were already drawn up tight to his body and John pulled at them lightly before rolling them in his palm.  “Ahhhh. Fuck, John.”  He moaned again, “Please.”  

John let his fingers trail further downward until they brushed lightly across Sherlock’s puckered entrance.  Sherlock’s entire body jerked, “Yes.” he breathed.  “Please, John.  Please.”  John rubbed around his hole a little more firmly, feeling the muscles relax marginally.  

Sherlock whined as John moved his hand to reach for the lube. “It’s alright.” John whispered softly before he kissed him, when he pulled back his fingers had returned to Sherlock’s entrance spreading the lube and massaging the puckered skin there.  “The only way this happens is if you _promise_ to tell me if anything hurts.”

Sherlock looked up at John under half lidded eyes, he looked completely wrecked and John wondered fleetingly if he would make it through John’s fingers before he came.  “I promise.” Sherlock groaned.  “Stop doubting my control over my transport.”

“What?” John asked, befuddled, “It’s just human biology, Sherlock, having someone’s fingers up your arse can hurt, I’m not doubting your body in particular.”

Sherlock shook his head, “You’re worried I won’t be able to stop myself from ejaculating.”

“I’m not worried.” John said.  “It’s all fine.  And if you are still capable of deducing me, I’m not doing my job well enough.” He said before pressing his lips to Sherlock’s again and pressing just the very tip of his finger into Sherlock’s body.  Sherlock jerked at the contact and his hand clawed at John’s back.  “Deep breath.” John said softly.  “Just relax.”

Sherlock did as John asked and John’s finger slipped in further past that tight ring of muscles and into the velvety warm heat of Sherlock's body.  Sherlock opened his eyes, his pupils blown wide, and looked at John, “Yes.” he breathed and John took it as permission to begin gently rocking his finger in and out of Sherlock’s body, circling carefully around the tight muscles of his entrance before sliding in again.  John looked down and watched in awe as his hand moved in and out of Sherlock's body steadily loosening to accept him.

“More.” Sherlock whispered and when John looked up Sherlock's eyes were closed and his head was tilted back baring his throat to John, his back was arched off the bed and John thought he looked more beautiful than any piece of artwork he'd ever seen, more beautiful than anything he'd ever seen without exception.

"You're beautiful." John said as he removed his finger and added more lube before carefully inserting his pointer and his middle finger. Sherlock winced and his right hand grasped at the sheets. "It's alright." John soothed, stilling his movements and pressing a kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "Deep breaths and relax; bear down a bit if it feels like too much." Sherlock nodded and exhaled shakily.  John looked down Sherlock's body and saw his nipples standing erect and simply begging to be put in his mouth.  Without another thought John bent his head and lapped at Sherlock's nipple before pulling that tight little nub between his lips and sucking lightly.  Sherlock keened and his body relaxed as he focused on something else.  

Up until this point John had been very careful to avoid Sherlock’s prostate because of how close to the edge he’d seemed when they started but now, since Sherlock's erection had flagged slightly with the bit of pain at the stretch, John cautiously crooked his fingers and brushed across his prostate with a feather light touch.  

Sherlock arched up off the bed and gasped in surprise, moaning John’s name and circling his hips to try to get John to put pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves once more. “What was that?”

“Your prostate.” John said with a grin as he brushed his fingers across it lightly once more.  John scissored his fingers and continued working Sherlock open being careful not to overstimulate Sherlock’s prostate.  When Sherlock was gasping and panting and writhing under John, John pulled his fingers out and added more lube before re-inserting his fingers and adding a third.

Sherlock exhaled shakily and John could see him focusing on relaxing his muscles once more, “That’s it.” John said softly, stroking Sherlock’s curls back off his face.  “You are so perfect, so gorgeous.”  John worked his fingers in and out of Sherlock's hole, stretching him until he met little resistance.  John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s lips, “Feeling alright?”

Sherlock nodded, “Please, John.  Please, I’m ready.”

John scissored his fingers a few more times as he said, “There are a couple of ways we can do this.  You can stay on your back or you can turn over on your hands and knees.  It can be a little easier that way; often there's less pain and it's easier for me to hit your prostate.”

Sherlock shook his head, “I want to see you.”

John pressed a kiss to his lips, “I was hoping you’d say that.” He moved to position himself in the cradle of Sherlock’s thighs, spreading lube over his cock with quick, efficient movements before pressing his tip against Sherlock’s entrance.  He braced himself on his forearms over Sherlock and pressed a kiss to his lips, “Ready?” He asked softly.

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded.  John slowly, agonizingly slowly, began to press in, Sherlock tensed as the head of John’s prick pressed into him.  John stopped moving and reached down to take Sherlock’s hands in his and pull them up above his head, clasping his hands tightly in his.  “Breathe.” He said, “Just relax.” He squeezed Sherlock's hands in his and felt Sherlock breathe out, slowly he slipped in pressing forward until his balls were pressed against Sherlock’s arse.

Sherlock wrapped his legs around John and pulled him in just a smidge further.  “Okay?” John asked.

Sherlock stared up at him and blinked for a moment, John saw tears brimming in his eyes.  “Oh God.” John whispered, “Am I hurting you?" Sherlock's body was shaking beneath him.  "I’m hurting you, aren’t I?”  He started to pull back moving as slowly and as carefully as he could.

Sherlock shook his head and the tears spilled out of the corner of his eyes, “No.” he said wrapping his legs more tightly around John’s waist to hold him in place.  “Stop moving.  Don’t move.  Just for a moment.”  Sherlock swallowed, “It’s just, you’re inside me.”  He looked up at John through his eyelashes.  “I just never thought this would happen.”

“I love you.” John said softly, feeling his throat constrict around the words and feeling tears brim in his own eyes.

“I love you, too.” Sherlock whispered as he leaned up to capture John’s lips with his own.

John obliged him and started to gently rock his hips, not moving in or out more than a few centimeters.  He began playing with the angle of his thrust just slightly working to find the angle that would hit Sherlock just right.  Sherlock broke his mouth away from John’s and threw his head back.  He let out a breathy moan, “There.” He gasped.  

The angle required to brush Sherlock's prostate was slightly awkward and put a great deal of strain on John's thighs but he repositioned himself to do just that.  He moved languidly, pulling out slowly then grinding back in equally slowly.  Sherlock was panting and trying to thrust his hips in time with John's, his cock leaping copious amounts of precome on his stomach.

John started thrusting with a bit more fervor, pulling out until only the head of his cock remained before thrusting back in, still working to hit Sherlock’s prostate on every thrust.  John knew he wasn’t going to last long; the fact that he hadn’t had sex with another person in months combined with the fact that this was Sherlock Holmes, the man he had spent years in love with was threatening to overwhelm him.  He pressed his lips to Sherlock’s once more in a gesture that was less of a kiss and more of an additional point of contact between their bodies as he reached down to stroke Sherlock’s cock firmly.

Sherlock groaned and his eyes snapped open, taking in every detail of John’s face.  “John.” he gasped out.  “I can’t... I don’t... I’m going to...”

John pressed a kiss to his lips once more, “Come for me, love.” He said.  Sherlock didn’t wait another moment as his cock started to pulse in John’s hand.  John tried to work him through it before he came but the constricting of Sherlock’s passage around his cock proved to be too much and with a cry of Sherlock’s name John came, too.

Sherlock wrapped his arms and legs tightly around John, pulling him down into his embrace.  John collapsed willingly and worked his arms under Sherlock’s shoulders to pull him close as well.

“I love you.” Sherlock whispered into John’s neck.  John could feel Sherlock’s breath hitching and tears mixing in with the sweat that covered them both.  “I love you.” Sherlock whispered and then he did it again, and continued to repeat it until John mustered the energy a moment later to sit up slightly.  

“Shhhh.” He whispered, reaching up to stroke Sherlock’s curls back out of his face.  “It’s alright.” He soothed.  “I love you, too.”

“I didn’t know sex would be like that.” Sherlock told him.

John shook his head, “It’s not always that intense, love.  It will always, _always_ be amazing with someone you love but it won’t always be that overwhelming.”

Carefully John slipped out with a wince from both John and Sherlock.  “Sorry.” John murmured pressing one more kiss to Sherlock's forehead before flopping over onto his back and letting out a huge sigh.  Sherlock wasted no time in curling up around John, pillowing his head on John’s chest and wrapping his mile long limbs around him like an octopus.  They were covered in sweat and semen but as Sherlock dragged the blanket up from the foot of the bed and pressed a kiss to John’s chest, John couldn’t bring himself to care.  Let tomorrow’s problems take care of themselves.


End file.
